More Information

Lyons: State can never do enough, but should do something

James Richardson, a poor, black citrus picker, was convicted in 1968 of the fatal poisoning of his seven children in rural DeSoto County. Following a special investigation that concluded that "a totally inadequate and
incomplete investigation" led to Richardson's conviction, he was released from prison in April 1989. A court later vacated his conviction and sentence. Efforts to obtain compensation from the state have been fruitless.

Published: Saturday, April 12, 2014 at 8:15 p.m.

Last Modified: Saturday, April 12, 2014 at 8:15 p.m.

The damage done can never be repaired, but it is embarrassing that my state has for so long been unwilling to do what can be done to try, just a little, to make things up to James Richardson.

It's impossible to compute what he lost.

Florida's history includes so many convictions of innocent people that it is impossible to choose just one as the most iconic victim of gross injustice. Many of the obvious nominees were black and poor, like Richardson, as that status made it easy for some cops and prosecutors to shrug off a shortage of evidence and ignore facts that inconveniently pointed toward innocence.

Sometimes a lack of proof was dealt with by way of manufactured evidence, including coerced testimony from people pressured to say whatever prosecutors wanted the jury to hear. Juries, which often had no one of the same race as the defendant in those days, were frequently way too inclined to believe the worst when a prosecutor encouraged them to.

If I had to pick one such Florida case as the classic example of prosecutorial railroading, it might well be Richardson, who was a fruit picker in Arcadia when I was in high school.

All the usual elements were in play when he was convicted of murder in Arcadia in 1968, after his seven children were killed with poisoned grits and beans.

But Richardson and his wife were at work picking fruit when their kids were poisoned. As you may know, there are now all sorts of reasons to think their baby-sitter did it, and that it probably wasn't the first time she had killed someone with poison.

To Florida's further shame, many of the reasons to think so were known at the time. But the prosecutor preferred the scenario in which Richardson killed the children because he supposedly believed he had purchased an insurance policy, though he hadn't, and supposedly thought it would pay him for each dead child.

I can't begin to imagine how terrible that must have been for Richardson. His kids were very suddenly dead, and he was accused of killing them and was promptly jailed, tried, convicted and sent to prison to await execution. Not much could be worse, but how about 21 years in prison before the conviction was overturned?

That horrific miscarriage of justice, fueled by prosecutorial misconduct that destroyed any semblance of a fair trial, did not end even when Richardson was released. Even then, in Arcadia and elsewhere, many chose to assume he was a child killer and they made sure he knew he was not welcome.

So we should be impressed that Richardson, now 78, has somehow managed to live without obvious signs of being ruled by bitterness. He now lives in Kansas, where he is a minister, and good for him.

But I'm glad he has not quite let Florida forget what was done to him, or that — unlike some others wrongly imprisoned for fewer years — the state has never paid him for the decades stolen from him and made so nightmarish.

Some legal details of the compensation rules have often been used to explain this. But the reason that the rules weren't changed long ago was simple enough, I believe: Many lawmakers didn't want to vote for the payment. They wanted to avoid backing the notion, however well established, that the prosecutor and sheriff made an incorrect accusation and did whatever it took to make it stick.

They preferred the pretense that there was still reason to think Richardson-haters in Arcadia were right.

That's one of the most difficult things about wrongful convictions: Some people — including some cops, prosecutors, elected officials, and crime victims — seem almost incapable of admitting an error, even when evidence of that is strong.

Yet, the same people are often quite easily convinced of guilt, as long as the suspect fits their idea of a likely criminal. In Florida, being black and poor has often been more than enough for that.

I hope that, at long last, the 2014 legislative session now underway will be the one in which our lawmakers finally vote to compensate Richardson for what the was done to him.

It won't be enough, since that was never possible. It won't be timely, as they have made that impossible, too. But if they hurry, maybe they can at least do it while he is still alive.

<p>The damage done can never be repaired, but it is embarrassing that my state has for so long been unwilling to do what can be done to try, just a little, to make things up to James Richardson.</p><p>It's impossible to compute what he lost.</p><p>Florida's history includes so many convictions of innocent people that it is impossible to choose just one as the most iconic victim of gross injustice. Many of the obvious nominees were black and poor, like Richardson, as that status made it easy for some cops and prosecutors to shrug off a shortage of evidence and ignore facts that inconveniently pointed toward innocence.</p><p>Sometimes a lack of proof was dealt with by way of manufactured evidence, including coerced testimony from people pressured to say whatever prosecutors wanted the jury to hear. Juries, which often had no one of the same race as the defendant in those days, were frequently way too inclined to believe the worst when a prosecutor encouraged them to.</p><p>If I had to pick one such Florida case as the classic example of prosecutorial railroading, it might well be Richardson, who was a fruit picker in Arcadia when I was in high school.</p><p>All the usual elements were in play when he was convicted of murder in Arcadia in 1968, after his seven children were killed with poisoned grits and beans.</p><p>But Richardson and his wife were at work picking fruit when their kids were poisoned. As you may know, there are now all sorts of reasons to think their baby-sitter did it, and that it probably wasn't the first time she had killed someone with poison.</p><p>To Florida's further shame, many of the reasons to think so were known at the time. But the prosecutor preferred the scenario in which Richardson killed the children because he supposedly believed he had purchased an insurance policy, though he hadn't, and supposedly thought it would pay him for each dead child.</p><p>I can't begin to imagine how terrible that must have been for Richardson. His kids were very suddenly dead, and he was accused of killing them and was promptly jailed, tried, convicted and sent to prison to await execution. Not much could be worse, but how about 21 years in prison before the conviction was overturned?</p><p>That horrific miscarriage of justice, fueled by prosecutorial misconduct that destroyed any semblance of a fair trial, did not end even when Richardson was released. Even then, in Arcadia and elsewhere, many chose to assume he was a child killer and they made sure he knew he was not welcome.</p><p>So we should be impressed that Richardson, now 78, has somehow managed to live without obvious signs of being ruled by bitterness. He now lives in Kansas, where he is a minister, and good for him.</p><p>But I'm glad he has not quite let Florida forget what was done to him, or that — unlike some others wrongly imprisoned for fewer years — the state has never paid him for the decades stolen from him and made so nightmarish.</p><p>Some legal details of the compensation rules have often been used to explain this. But the reason that the rules weren't changed long ago was simple enough, I believe: Many lawmakers didn't want to vote for the payment. They wanted to avoid backing the notion, however well established, that the prosecutor and sheriff made an incorrect accusation and did whatever it took to make it stick. </p><p>They preferred the pretense that there was still reason to think Richardson-haters in Arcadia were right.</p><p>That's one of the most difficult things about wrongful convictions: Some people — including some cops, prosecutors, elected officials, and crime victims — seem almost incapable of admitting an error, even when evidence of that is strong.</p><p>Yet, the same people are often quite easily convinced of guilt, as long as the suspect fits their idea of a likely criminal. In Florida, being black and poor has often been more than enough for that.</p><p>I hope that, at long last, the 2014 legislative session now underway will be the one in which our lawmakers finally vote to compensate Richardson for what the was done to him.</p><p>It won't be enough, since that was never possible. It won't be timely, as they have made that impossible, too. But if they hurry, maybe they can at least do it while he is still alive.</p><p>Tom Lyons can be contacted at tom.lyons@heraldtribune.com</p>